


Cleanup

by flugantamuso



Category: Lost Boys - Fandom
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-10
Updated: 2010-01-10
Packaged: 2017-10-06 03:05:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flugantamuso/pseuds/flugantamuso
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cleanup's a bitch.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cleanup

Michael wanted to start cleaning up right away, but Lucy insisted that they all get a good night's rest first. She settled them in various bedrooms, which were more or less undamaged, and looking for somewhere to clean up, took a quick look at the kitchen, and an even quicker one at the bathroom before leading them all out to the pump to wash.

It was cold water, but no one complained, too happy to get the blood and vampire guts off themselves to care

Michael couldn't sleep. He was haunted by memories of blood, of knowing eyes and a mocking laugh. Eventually he made his way downstairs and found Star waiting there for him, by David's body.

"Let's take him outside," she said.

It was harder said than done. David was heavy, and it was no mean task getting him off the antlers. There was a surprising amount of blood, and in the end they were both coated with it. Thankfully, Michael felt nothing but disgust at the sight of it. He didn't ask Star what she felt.

They considered the necessity of digging a grave, but it was dead night and neither of them knew where the shovels were. They looked at each other uncertainly.

"Well, we can't just leave him here," said Star, "the coyotes might get him."

Michael had been hoping that they could, but he saw her point. "Suppose we cover him up with a tarp?" he asked.

"I don't know, it doesn't seem very respectful."

"I don't think that we need to be respectful after," he paused, hesitant to complete the thought aloud, because nevermind that it had happened, it still sounded ridiculous to say that he'd been turned into a vampire, even in these circumstances. He settled for, "after what's happened."

Star appeared to be thinking hard. "I just think," she said slowly, "that we ought to be mindful of the dead."

"Even the undead?" The joke felt flat even to himself. A deep breath. "Ok, how's this. Let's take him to that church down the road. That should be respectful enough."

"Do you think that it's allowed?"

"What, dumping a body in a church? I'm sure that it's not, but I'm more concerned about whether he'll burst into flames when we carry him over the threshold."

She gave him an admonishing look and he subsided. A church was as good a place as any.

Whichever way they did it, they were going to get blood in the car. They could wrap David in plastic wrap, but they didn't have any, and Michael couldn't even find any tarp. Finally Star came up with the idea of wrapping the body in blankets, like a mummy, and Michael propped him up in the back seat nest to backpacks full of garlic and holy water. He liked the irony of it.

He and Star washed at the pump as best they could (no sense in getting more blood in Grandpa's car than they had to), and with the top down (Star didn't want to be in close quarters with a body, and neither did Michael), and Michael driving, they started out.

He drove cautiously. The last thing they needed was for a cop to pull them over and ask about the body in the back seat and the blood under their fingernails.

It didn't occur to him until Star pointed it out, rather nervously, that if there really were other vampires out there, then driving at night with the top down, and smelling of blood, was practically an invitation for fine dining. He was just opening his mouth to suggest to Star that maybe they ought to put the top up after all, when--

There was a mouth on his neck, cold lips brushing just below his ear.

It would be a mistake to say that he panicked, because panicked wasn't a strong enough word. No word was strong enough.

A leisurely 35 mph became 60 in about three seconds as his foot hit the floor, and at the same time he was wriggling frantically from side to side to dislodge those lips. Unfortunately this had the effect of throwing the car back and forth as well, and for a few minutes they were in as much danger from Michael's driving as they had ever been in from David.

The lips at his neck fell away, though there was still pressure on his shoulder, and he might have continued to drive like a bat out of hell if Star's voice hadn't penetrated, repeating over and over, "It's all right, Michael," and even laughing a little bit, if nervously.

He cautiously slowed down and finally looked at what was on his shoulder.

It was David, or rather, David's head.

Apparently, the blankets that they'd wrapped him in had slipped until his head was visible, and then he'd tipped forward until his head had come to it's resting spot against Michael's shoulder. A pity that rigormortis hadn't set in, though Michael supposed that if it had he would have been faced with David's blood soaked shoes, not an enthralling prospect either. They should never, he thought, have propped him up in there upright.

Eventually his heart slowed down enough that he too could see the humor in the situation and he chuckled. That set Star off again, which made him laugh harder, which cycled until by the time they reached the church they were both gasping, eyes watering and ribs tight.

They managed to quiet down before they got out of the car, but Michael's legs were wobbly, and when he stumbled Star dropped her end of David. His head hit the ground with a dull thunk, and Michael, thinking of Star's 'respect for the dead,' let out a wholly unintentional shriek and put his head down until the tremors in his belly subsided, muffling sniggers, hearing Star's urgent and embarrassed hisses for quiet.

They put him on a pew. It didn't seen right to put him up by the podium, and it would have been an awfully long walk besides.

Michael had been all for dumping him in the doorway, but Star had pointed out that soemone might trip over him.

They took the blankets off (Michael had no idea if anyone would be able to identify Grandpa's blankets, but there was no sense in taking chances).

"Maybe we should say something," said Star, bloody blankets in one hand, cross (and Michael hadn't noticed until that moment that she was wearing a cross) in the other.

"What's to say? So long, you bastard. May you rot in hell."

"Michael!"

"Well, what's there to say?"

Her mouth set in a grim line, Star sank down to her knees and leaned forward, whispering something into David's unhearing ear.

Michael felt simultaneously unnerved, jealous and a little ashamed of feeling jealous. He rocked back on his heels and sucked in a low breath.

Star dropped her cross back to her chest, got up, and walked out without a word.

Michael looked after her for a moment, then back at David one last time.

He looked...peaceful, human. His head was tilted back, and one hand hung limply off the bench. Michael picked it up and folded it over his chest, and then he followed Star out.

He wanted to ask her what she'd said, but if she'd meant for him to know then she'd have told him, so instead he asked, "How long were you with them?"

"Nine years."

"Nine years! I thought that you'd been taken recently."

Star's eyebrows quirked, and she looked amused. "Nine years is recently when nothing changes."

"Nothing?"

She considered. "Well, there was Marco, and then there was Laddie, and then there was you, but those all happened this year."

He thought about it. In nine years Star hadn't killed. Would he have been able to manage that? Nine years of David's blood orgies. He'd nearly caved in during the first few days, nearly killed his own brother. Another thought struck him.

"You're older than I am."

She rolled her eyes. "Well, yes."

"Nine years older."

"At least," she agreed calmly.

"Do you...have anyone to go back to?" He wasn't sure if he meant family, a boyfriend, a husband, but he caught himself holding his breath for her reply.

She hesitated for a long moment, then said quietly, "Probably not--my people," hesitated again and then just shook her head. "Probably not."

"Do you want to stay with us then?"

She turned to him with wide eyes. "Of course! Where else did you think that I was going to go?"

"I thought that you might be going to go with Laddie."

"To take him home, not to live!"

He felt a slow smile spread over his face. "Well, that's ok then."

"Better than ok, I hope," said Star smiling.

"Definitely," said Michael, interlacing his fingers with hers.

It was nearly dawn by the time they got back, and there was a long, gruesome cleanup job ahead of them, but that was ok, because the worst of it was done, and at the present there were double-stuffed oreos and Star's eyes laughing at him over a can of rootbeer.


End file.
